


Smile Again

by RinAngel



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Depression, Hospitalization, I'm trying to be uplifting with this one tho I swear, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAngel/pseuds/RinAngel
Summary: Jinwoo had always looked to Minho for strength, until the day came when Minho's strength faltered and he ended up hospitalized from a drug overdose. For the first time, Jinwoo finds himself bearing the weight of them both, his only hope that he can be as strong as Minho had always been for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first Winner fanfiction, and my planned days for updates are Mondays >u< Genuinely hope that everybody enjoys - this started out as an inkling of an idea, then a single stand-alone scene, and with a lot of encouragement from friends, became something messy and beautiful and hopefully as meaningful to you as it was to me :) Elements of Jinwoo and Minho have both been pulled from my own bank of experience, making this fanfiction a vulnerable sort of thing on my part, and I'm proud to finally share it!

**Chapter One**

Minho never let other people drive his car unless it was absolutely necessary. Jinwoo didn't know anything about cars, but it was a foreign car with a sleek, quiet engine, and it was bright blue, Minho's favorite color. Jinwoo felt strange, being the one to put the keys in the ignition while Minho sat beside him, but neither of them mentioned switching seats.

“How do you feel?” Jinwoo spoke first, once he'd silenced the crackling static of the radio. “Is your medicine still making you nauseous? We could stop and get dinner somewhere if you wanted.”

“Mm.” Minho seemed like he was in a trance, and Jinwoo wasn't sure whether to take his response as affirmative. “I'm tired. I'd like to just go home. I'm really sorry, hyung.” He sighed, his eyes drifting closed. “I don't know if I have it in me to be fun tonight.”

Minho didn't look the same anymore. He'd always been full of life, for the two years that Jinwoo had known him, constantly ready with a lewd one-liner or a stupid joke. That was Jinwoo's favorite thing about living together. _I need you – Minho, the extrovert. You changed things for the better for me._ But something had changed slightly in the days before Minho left for his stint in the psych ward. He seemed to have gotten worse since Jinwoo had last visited him. He was paler, and his hands had a tremor that seemed nearly constant.

Even so, Jinwoo gave what he knew was the right answer, what he knew both of them had to accept: “It's not your job to be happy and fun all the time. You're allowed to be class clown and still feel shit.” He bit his bottom lip. He'd been doing it all day, out of stress, and his flesh stung between his teeth. “You know, they say that comedians are more likely to be depressed. Or anxious. I can't remember which.”

“Huh.” There was a note of _something_ like genuine interest in Minho's voice, or maybe he was faking it. “Maybe I'm using humor to compensate for something. But then the 'something' started to fight back.” He chuckled, but not really, just a dry little _“_ _hm_ _”_ again. “It fought back by making me OD on painkillers. That's so metal.”

There it was, weak but struggling back to the top. Jinwoo nearly laughed, but it caught in his throat like a sob. “Don't say that!”

“The counselor said it's good to talk. I just don't know what I want to talk about.”

Jinwoo had thought of so many questions while Minho was in the hospital for those three agonizing weeks. Why would he have tried to kill himself? What had been the thing to push him over the edge, to make him think that it was all worth giving up on? _How do you smile that way when you're not happy? You were fooling me, the person who sees you the most._ As he pulled into the garage beneath the apartments, all he could think to ask was, “Do you feel better? I mean...with the meds and stuff?”

Minho looked down at his phone – it was the first time Jinwoo had seen him do so once they'd gotten in the car. His once precious Instagram account had been abandoned for three weeks. He had thousands of followers, and there was no question that they would have noticed.

“I don't feel like dying anymore.” Minho's voice was flat. A voice that didn't want to speak, that much was clear.

“That's-- that's good,” Jinwoo answered encouragingly after a moment, managing a smile that he didn't feel. _It doesn't_ _ **feel**_ _good.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

 

Jinwoo had offered to carry his bags upstairs while Minho got a moment of air outside. Still, he'd looked uneasily over his shoulder on the way into the building.  _He thinks I'm loony._ The thought stung, but Minho could hardly blame him.  _He was the one who found me, laying in my own puke._

He blinked. His thoughts when he was alone were starting to scare him. Being back with Jinwoo surely was the best thing, even if the doctors had urged him to return to his parents'.

When he left the elevator at the fifth floor and entered the familiar apartment labeled _549_ , the smell of microwave popcorn hit him, and he found Jinwoo already in his pajamas. Cats marched across his pajama pants in patterned rows – black, white, orange, calico.  _Cute._

“Want to watch some TV before bed? I downloaded all the episodes of Show Me The Money that you missed. I won't spoil anything for you.”

Minho had a one-track mind, and Jinwoo knew it. He couldn't focus on anything until he'd cleared out what was burdening his brain completely – until he was “empty”, as he sometimes said. “Jinwoo-hyung. When you found me...you're okay after that, right?”

Jinwoo's eyes sharpened, and his pretty mouth set itself in a tense little line. “What do you mean by that?”

_I'm stupid. He's probably trying to forget._ Minho inhaled slowly. “I don't remember too much, but I remember you talking to me while we waited for the ambulance, and you cried. I kept trying to tell you not to cry...” Jinwoo was getting paler as Minho went on, if that was even possible. “But anyway, it was selfish of me to force you to find me that way. I made my problems your problems. I'm really sorry.”

Jinwoo didn't speak, he just closed his eyes and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course, it would embarrass him that Minho remembered. He'd changed so much in the two year that they'd been roommates, but he still held the reputation of angel-faced, frosty-hearted Kim Jinwoo.

He was a dance prodigy, an unshakable beauty, and nothing could hurt him. Almost.

“You're not just my best friend, you're really my _only_ friend,” he spoke quietly, turning to pull the popcorn from the microwave but making no move to open the bag. “Like, seriously. I couldn't care less about those other pricks, and none of them probably like me anyway 'cause I'm an asshole. You know stuff that even my parents don't know about me.” He forced a little laugh, and he impressed Minho by going for a joke of the only kind he knew, a wry one. “You're one of the only people I've come out to. You're the only soul in the entire eastern hemisphere who knows that I fucked Lee Seunghoon in the dance studio the day before he left for America.”

Jinwoo's monologue left an odd ache in Minho's chest. “You're not an asshole, hyung. You're human. You just try not to be. Even so, I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Jinwoo turned and looked at Minho in silence for a few seconds. He'd set the popcorn aside, and was leaning back against the counter, arms folded loosely before him. He was conceitedly beautiful, beautiful through the focused efforts of BB cream and black charcoal masks and goopy snail slime lotion. Minho was sure that he was the only one who had seen that side of Jinwoo, the one that tried harder than anything to look effortless.

His lips were soft from the balm that he constantly applied, he thought to himself without purpose. They tasted sweet. Minho's insides felt like liquid all of a sudden.

“I don't think you should worry about me,” Jinwoo said at last, though his voice wavered. “Now come on, let's relax for a little. I have dance class at 7:30 tomorrow morning, you know...”

The night fell short of relaxing, at least for Minho. When Jinwoo began to doze against his shoulder, his skin illuminated by the TV like fine porcelain, Minho couldn't keep his heart from racing, and he put all of his focus into keeping perfectly still so Jinwoo wouldn't leave.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Minho was going back to classes against the orders of the doctor who had discharged him. They told him that it would be wise to return home to his parents and try again next semester, but he told Jinwoo that he'd never have been able to live with the decision.

“Then I'll just lay there on bedrest and think about it. My mom will interrogate me. She'll read my lyrics and get freaked out and analyze every little word. She did the same thing in high school whenever she was concerned about me.”

“Oh.” While Minho packed lunches for both of them to take to class the next day, Jinwoo was stretching, gripping the edge of the kitchen table for stability. He spent the days dancing in the air conditioned studio, and at night, when the heat died down, he liked to go out and run. His muscled burned the entire time, his body screamed in pain, but-- well, he had to show his willpower who was boss. Had to punish himself for being human, as Minho always said. “Did you write about it?” The silence echoed for a few seconds, and he continued softly, “It might help, you know. Even if it never saw the light of day.”

With anyone but Minho, Jinwoo only asked what was good and proper to ask. He was bold with Minho only out of familiarity, and his voice still shook. The moment he saw Minho's shoulders tense, he blurted out, “I'm sorry.”

“No,” Minho answered, paying no answer to Jinwoo's apology. “Well, yes and no. There were a lot of things that caused it. Maybe I caused it myself by being stupid.”

_You're not stupid. You're just too trusting with people. You help people for no reason. You wear your heart on your sleeve sometimes. And it's such a beautiful heart._

Jinwoo didn't say any of that. Instead, he said what the best friend was supposed to say. “Didn't the counselor say it was best to talk about it?” Jinwoo slipped into a lunge, stretching his limber legs. “You know I'm here to help you. I just... I guess I wish I could see inside your head myself, you know? Tell you what to do or whatever. You're good at helping people. I'm not.”

“Well, it's not like I give you a chance.” Minho sounded less anxious than Jinwoo. He sounded flat, in fact. “We talk a lot of shit. We talked through a lot of _your_ shit. But I guess we haven't touched mine.” Jinwoo was uncomfortable in the pause that he took, and he considered speaking, but when he was about to Minho continued on, “I felt like a burden to my parents, insisting on studying music when my entire family is made up of doctors. My mom says I'm wasting my time rapping, and suddenly that's the way it feels. Sometimes I'm so depressed and unmotivated that I don't even want to get out of bed – and the medicine doesn't even make me feel _good_ , it makes me feel _nothing._ ”

Minho didn't raise his voice, but his words were heavy and piercing and heartbreaking. It was the most he'd said in days. Jinwoo suddenly felt guilty, and he murmured, “I didn't mean to push you. I'm sorry.”

“No. It's good. You should be kicking my ass into talking. It's good for me.” He turned to peer out the window as he closed up Jinwoo's lunchbox. “It's going to rain, though. You should go soon if you want to run.”

“Oh...yeah. I'll be back soon, then.” Jinwoo adjusted his sweatband, glancing back and feeling awkward and vulnerable as he spoke again to Minho's back. “Thanks for talking, Minho. It must be hard with so much going on...”

“I appreciate it, hyung. Take my umbrella if you want.”

It was hot, but the air outside felt good, and there was a pleasant breeze that kept him cool as he eased into a jog. Minho was the breeze that lifted his hair off his neck and kept him feeling weightless, made “being human” just a little less daunting. But of course, he had neglected to take Minho's umbrella, and the rain began soaking him eight blocks away from home.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jinwoo's “shit”, so to speak, came mainly from a set of parents who were hellbent on success and critical of every mistake. It showed in the son they'd created, who could never be smart enough, hard-working enough, or dedicated enough. Minho wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain that the other dance majors weren't practicing on sprained ankles swelled to twice their size; or measuring their waists, their arms, their thighs at night in front of the mirror, eyes fixed in hatred on a number they'd kill to change. It was sad to watch, and Minho refused to sit back and watch passively, even if he'd only known his roommate for a few weeks.

It wasn't hard to see beyond Jinwoo's porcelain mask of poise, given that they shared a shitty one-bedroom apartment and half of their music classes. Jinwoo got critique he didn't agree with on his final dance recital – he accepted it with grace and poise, took the bus home with Minho in complete silence, and behind their locked bedroom door, cried until he was nearly purple in the face. Jinwoo was beautiful when it came to everything except crying.

They spoke that night over a pack of cigarettes that Minho had only bought earlier that afternoon. Jinwoo's mannerisms were all perfect and proper, his tastes dignified, his style regal and subdued. It was strange to see how naturally he fumbled through his pockets with the lit cigarette clenched between his teeth. “I started smoking when I was sixteen. Just not too often. It's bad for you.”

“It's good for your soul,” Minho had replied somberly. “Sometimes the trade-off is worth it.”

And Jinwoo had laughed – he had a beautiful laugh, and he looked so much more lively when he allowed himself to smile. “You're crazy.”

They quit smoking together, after towards the end of their second semester of school. Against both of their predictions, Minho took it way harder than Jinwoo did. Jinwoo threw himself into running and exercising, and slowly his endurance grew and his lungs healed. And Minho threw himself into...  _ what? _

Recording gave him no more satisfaction. Working hard and losing hours producing his own tracks had once brought him great joy, but suddenly it was stress and time wasted. Suddenly, he was approaching his degree in a field that he knew his parents hated, making his mother worry without rest over what kind of job her only son would be able to work--

Then Jinwoo had to go and  _ mess it all up _ even more. It was the cruelest way to think about it. It made Minho want to cry as he lay in his bed, wide awake, and listened to the rain hammer on the window. Jinwoo was still out, and definitely soaked. The thought made him antsy, and he eyed the medicine bottle on his dresser across the room.

_Nope. I can do this without it._

Suddenly he heard the front door of the apartment open and close, followed by the sound of Jinwoo slipping off his shoes. He entered the dark bedroom quietly – Minho closed his eyes and held still when his roommate glanced in his direction, and as much as talking was probably good for him, reopening the wounds once more wouldn't do his nerves any good. When he peeked again, Jinwoo was stripping off his wet tracksuit, and it was impossible to keep himself from looking. Dance and self-discipline had done wonders for Jinwoo's form, and Minho felt insignificant and shitty in comparison.

“Minho?” His voice came finally as a whisper, and Minho closed his eyes instantly, resisting the impulse to pull the blankets over himself completely, to truly hide. He hadn't thought having a roommate who slept in his underwear would be this problematic, he really didn't. “Are you really asleep?”

_ You idiot. _ Minho lay still, patient.

“God...” Jinwoo was speaking more to himself now as he crossed the room. He stopped by Minho's bed for a brief moment, and the urge to see what the _fuck_ he was up to was almost all-encompassing. Then his footsteps shuffled across the carpeted floor, to the dresser. Minho dared to peek as Jinwoo picked up one of the medicine bottles that had been prescribed for Minho's condition. He read the label carefully in the light of his phone, and then-- he seemed to be messaging someone-- no, searching something, scrolling and reading.

_ I wonder if he's worried for me. _ He hated the thought, he knew that Jinwoo didn't need a single other thing in his already-miserable life to worry about, but the thought that he was concerned over Minho's safety made him feel elated.

It was hard to hold it together until Jinwoo slipped into bed and put his headphones on. Once he was alone as he ever was in his apartment, he hid his face in his pillow and sobbed until he had no energy left.

 


	5. Chapter Five

Minho had caught him in a downward spiral, Jinwoo often thought, but he hadn't thought that Minho himself needed catching until he'd already smashed against the ground. Attempting suicide meant that Minho needed therapy, one hour twice a week. Jinwoo found himself cutting class for no reason at all to come along with him, riding in the car in silence, taking the elevator and helping Minho to find the correct door. Kwon Jiyong, Psychologist. He was _recommended._ But Jinwoo hated the waiting room, which was empty and silent, with the young female receptionist who kept smiling his way. He soon found himself crossing the street to sit in a crowded coffee shop. He was certain that if he sat in the corner and kept his head down, no one would see him crying.

It was Minho who had taught him the nuances of his own well-being. Jinwoo had not considered himself “self-loathing” before, but only because he hadn't realized that not every less-than-perfect person wanted to die.

“ _I know it's not true, but I can't see any good in myself. I know I'm being stupid. I know I'm being ridiculous. I fucking hate this. I hate being so anxious.” Jinwoo had been slurring his words. Beer helped in the counseling process. Beer made Jinwoo less terrified to cry._

“ _You're not being stupid. Your brain is wired a certain way...you didn't do that to yourself.”_

“ _No...”_

“ _But you_ can _rewire it. It will be difficult, but you can teach yourself a different way to think.” Minho had smiled, and a brave flicker of a smile danced on his face in spite of it all. “My mom's a psychologist. I hear her say shit like that all the time. Maybe I should ask her what she recommends.”_

_Jinwoo's eyes had closed, and his neck slumped his head onto Minho's shoulder, body curled into him so naturally on the couch. “I wish I could rewire my brain into somebody else.”_

_Minho had run his hand soothingly up Jinwoo's back. “That would be a shame.” His breath tickled Jinwoo's forehead._

“Hyung?”

It was a sad memory, but it was still difficult for Jinwoo to pull himself back into the present. His coffee was barely touched, lukewarm, and he could feel cold tears dried onto his cheeks. And there was Minho, standing before him again, looking way too put-together after his first therapy session. Minho was amazing. Effortless, he'd once thought, but now he knew better.

  
“Come on, let's head home.”

Jinwoo abandoned his coffee on the table, shouldering his bag with the homework he hadn't touched, and as he followed quickly from the public view of the coffee shop, he felt Minho's warm hand slip into his own.

“Hyung,” Minho spoke again when they had arrived back to the car. He slipped his sunglasses on and adjusted the rearview mirror in a way that was obviously just stalling for time. “You have yourself to take care of. You don't need to come here with me if it's too hard for you. I appreciate the support, but I can stand on my own. Having you here isn't worth stressing you out.”

It was a rejection that stung in a familiar way, and Jinwoo felt just as winded the second time. _Hyung, stop. I can't._ He gritted his teeth. “You shouldn't have to stand on your own,” he managed, his voice sounding higher-pitched to himself, completely foreign and admirably strong. “I didn't have to stand on my own. I hate that I can't help you. I don't know _what_ can help you. But...” _I just wish it was me. Maybe I'm just being selfish, wanting you to see in me what I see in you._

Minho sighed, starting the engine at last. Jinwoo hated his sunglasses, hated that he couldn't see his eyes as he chewed up Jinwoo's thoughts. “You help me just by existing,” he said at last, softly. His voice wasn't monotone and robotic from the drugs this time – it trembled, and the vulnerability in it had Jinwoo touched. “I have a lot of friendships and relationships, but you're the only constant. You're the one who's always there waiting for me and trying so hard for me.” He chuckled. A genuine chuckle, after so long. Music. “I talked about you with the therapist.”

“Wait, what?” Jinwoo laughed nervously. That wasn't a phrase to take easily. “What do you mean? What did you talk about?”

“Lots of stuff. How we met. How you make me constantly worry, but how I don't mind because I'd rather have to worry about you than to not have you at all. How jealous I am at how composed you come off.” It was a statement that came as a surprise, but Jinwoo forgot his flattery and felt his stomach drop when Minho continued on, “I told him about the night with the imported whiskey.”

"Oh, _fuck_..."

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Mondays suck.

Minho wasn't a person who enjoyed liquor, and it had been quite out of his character to drink some weird foreign shit. Still, Jinwoo had supplied the bottle for Minho's twenty-second birthday using his own money, and excusing it effortlessly by saying, “You told me you want to get trashed. Don't waste your time with beer."

And then Jinwoo had swallowed down his first shot so admirably, without even a grimace. He had such a young, innocent face that sometimes Minho found himself forgetting that he was the elder of the two, but then Jinwoo could turn around and be so mind-blowingly _cool_. Minho had to take a shot, too, if only to avoid being shown up.

Jinwoo was so uptight that Minho couldn't picture him truly drunk, but there was something magical about the changes in him as the party guests dwindled and he found himself a bit more comfortable. He smiled without worrying what he looked like, and he laughed without covering his mouth with his hand.

When Jinwoo smiled because he was happy and not because he had to, he had a phenomenal smile.

“ _I'm glad everybody's gone. I like it when it's just the two of us here.” The couch shook as Jinwoo plopped down, leaning back against Minho's shoulder and putting his feet up. Minho had been borderline nauseous from drinking so much, but Jinwoo was an instant distraction._

“ _I like it, too,” Minho had said with a little laugh, letting his head fall back against the couch. “You were right, whiskey is awesome. I found my new favorite drink.” His hand had found Jinwoo's without trying, their fingers twining, and Minho realized for the first time that the comforting scent he sometimes caught in the air was Jinwoo's shampoo. His head had buzzed with euphoria, and he buried his nose into his roommate's hair._

“ _Minho?”_

“ _Yeah?”_

_Jinwoo had shifted beside him, his soft cheek rubbing on Minho's shoulder. “Seunghoon asked if we could try dating when he comes back to Seoul, and I said yes, but I'm pretty sure we're better as friends with benefits.”_

_It was true, it always had been and probably always would be. Seunghoon had been crazy about Jinwoo (along with all the single females in the dance department), and Jinwoo, as usual, was painfully indifferent. Seunghoon knew, or he should have. Jinwoo was too much of a perfectionist for him._

“ _Tell him, then, just let him down easy,” Minho mumbled, but after a few seconds of clumsy consideration, he amended, “When you're sober, that would be better. You shouldn't do life-changing things when you're drunk.”_

“ _But I'm not scared when I'm drunk. And... you give me so much confidence.”_

_Minho hadn't had a chance to process it all before he felt Jinwoo squirm again, watched him tuck a loose lock of hair behind his ear-- and he hadn't protested as Jinwoo had kissed him._

_Minho had assumed Jinwoo was a good and experienced kisser compared to himself, and he wasn't wrong. In his drunken stupor, anxiety left him momentarily paralyzed, but Jinwoo had led him with uncharacteristic boldness. His tongue had tasted like whiskey, his lips soft and sweet with the faint hint of cherry from his lip balm._

_Minho never forgot the flavor, not of his first kiss._

“I haven't told anyone before him,” Minho said softly, keeping his eyes on the road. Looking in Jinwoo's eyes was easier when they were talking about _his_ problems.

“I didn't expect that you'd want to tell people about turning me down when we were both drunk and I was still fucking with another guy,” Jinwoo sighed. “I'm so embarrassed...”

Minwoo smiled weakly.  _Be real. You won't be happy otherwise,_ the words he'd once said to Jinwoo echoed in his head. Honestly, he felt like he shouldn't have needed a therapist to tell him that. He took a deep breath. “I actually still think about it a lot. What I remember, anyway...” He chuckled weakly. He certainly remembered his own words, a minute later, as he pushed Jinwoo back:  _“Hyung, stop. I can't.”_

“Minho...”

“Please, let me finish before you answer,” he pleaded quietly, flexing his hands anxiously on the steering wheel as he continued on, “I have to be _honest_ for once. I... I've never felt things for any other guy...” He swallowed. He kept his eyes focused on the traffic lights as they zoomed by, and the words came out with more ease than he anticipated, “...but I still feel things for you, after all these months.”

Jinwoo knew now. He knew, and Minho hadn't been struck down by God himself, or more realistically, melted into his car's leather interior from embarrassment. He knew he'd still have to tell his other friends, and more daunting, his parents--  _but now Jinwoo knows. From here, we begin..._

But first, one more thing. Minho smiled weakly. “And I'm sorry I pushed you away. If you hadn't been-- my first kiss, I might not have been so scared.”

Jinwoo wasn't silent when it was the two of them. Minho's Jinwoo, the one that lived beneath the facade, he was witty and dynamic and hilarious, nothing like the silent ice king that graced the campus dance studio. The silence was oddly deafening after Minho finished his confession, and he reached for the radio a moment later, wanting to kill the awkward pause in the air. But Jinwoo's fingers wrapped around his hand, warm and gentle, saying exactly what Minho needed to hear.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

Of course, the feelings had never gone away. Jinwoo had simply done his best to repress them, the way he'd repressed his burning desire to accompany his little sister to her Super Junior concerts in high school and scream with the girls in the front row. There were certain things that you didn't fuck with if you wanted people to respect you, no matter how cathartic they might have been.

But societal expectations had not stopped him from fantasizing about doing all kinds of nasty things to Lee Donghae (he was the hottest member, no matter what anybody said), and he wasn't sure that anything could have done much to prevent him from falling in love with Song Minho, either.

Jinwoo was roused from sleep by the sound of Minho clamoring about their shared room, getting dressed for the day. It was a role reversal, but Jinwoo's dance practice was canceled that morning, and he was reveling in the extra sleep that entitled him to. His body was itching with energy from the moment his eyes opened. He'd go for a morning run in place of dance, he decided, before the sun was able to heat things up too much.

But running was only a temporary feel-good mechanism, he thought as he opened his eyes and peered out at Minho, watching the muscles under the still-damp skin of his back as he searched his closet in nothing but a towel.  _ Bless. _

“I'm so glad that you still trust me enough to be naked in front of me. I won't jump you, promise.” The joke that left Jinwoo's lips had Minho's humor threaded all through it. He was proud of himself for thinking of it so early in the morning.

“What, should I be scared of you jumping me? You're like a kitten,” Minho countered, voice light and amused. It made Jinwoo happy to hear; it seemed like his mood had been lifted considerably since he'd come home, and he really hoped it was true. “Have breakfast with me before I leave. I have to go to the library to study for finals. Music theory has been kicking my ass.”

“You've been studying a lot. Maybe you should take a day off,” Jinwoo encouraged, sitting up in bed. He caught the eye of his own reflection and made a face – his hair was standing up every which way, and his face was swollen. _I'm gaining weight in my face lately. Not cute._ He looked away in disgust, mustering up the energy to finally get out of bed.

“You have so much faith in me, hyung. That's one of my favorite things about you.”

And yet, despite his apparent shift in mood, Minho's back was still turned to Jinwoo, and his voice had a more sinister shade of self-deprecation. It was meant to float overhead and disappear, and yet it hung on Jinwoo's soul and ached. And just as always, when things got hard, it was Minho's voice again that rang in his head, _You need to talk. It's okay to let it out with me, hyung._

“Why are you doing this?” Jinwoo questioned, managing to keep his voice steady and even vaguely imposing, like he had a backbone. He sounded far more confident than he truly was, but at least it was a step in the proper direction. “You tell me that you have feelings for me-- and then nothing? You really don't want to talk about it?” He couldn't read Minho's face in the mirror, and he wanted so badly to recant everything he'd said, to apologize, but he continued on with a slight tremor: “If you told your therapist that I kissed you, it stands to reason that-- that maybe I was weighing on your mind when you tried to-- y'know. I just want you to know that... it really doesn't have to weigh on your mind anymore. We like each other. Shouldn't that be clear-cut?”

Minho looked surprised, even. He had always been good at keeping himself together, but the way he nervously licked his lips gave him away this time.

“You were on my mind a lot. That... that's a big part of everything,” Minho explained at last. His voice quivered in a way that made Jinwoo second-guess his own methods. Minho was strong enough to coax Jinwoo into honesty, but clearly that relationship just couldn't reverse. “I just keep thinking about how, _if_ we were together... I can't guarantee what my parents would do or say.”

“I know that feeling. Trust me... I wasn't planning on _ever_ telling my parents that I'm gay,” Jinwoo admitted with a raw sort of honesty that stung them both, he could feel it clearly. “That's why I had the fling with Lee Seunghoon... I figured that college is the time I have to get this out of my system before I get married. But now...” _But now I don't want to imagine life without you._ He bit back the words that he wanted to say as he grabbed some clothes for his run and began to pull himself into order.

“When you think about it, isn't it a crazy choice? Giving up happiness, for... what, exactly?” Minho snorted, a half-laugh, but his voice sounded strained as he murmured, “I just want the two of us to be happy, whatever happens in the end. I hate how much there is standing in the way.”

“Yeah. And... I think that the two of us would be the happiest together.”

Minho smiled. Jinwoo loved that smile; it lit him up from the inside, it reminded him that humanity had its beautiful parts along with the sadness and the struggle.

“Go for your run. I'll make breakfast. And then... we can talk.”

Jinwoo nodded, feeling his heart swell and flutter with happy anticipation. He checked himself in the mirror once more, grabbed a towel, and gave it all one more moment of thought. He was never particularly brave, but the idea just felt too _right_ in his head. And it felt right in action, too, placing his hands on Minho's strong shoulders and leaning up to give him a quick but tender kiss goodbye.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Minho spent a disproportionate amount of time thinking about that two-second kiss once Jinwoo was out the door. His mind replayed it again and again as he rinsed rice over the sink and beat eggs together by hand, every motion half-hearted and distracted. Every detail came back, like his mind was equipped with a reel of film: the way Jinwoo had looked at him while he gathered his nerve, lips parted as if to speak, the way his warm hands had felt through the thin material of his shirt, the way their noses had awkwardly bumped for half a second, but then their lips had fit together perfectly, as though their mouths were made to be together.

While the eggs began to cook on the stove, he pulled out his phone and worked out a message; finding his mother in the contact list came second nature, but this time he wasn't begging her for extra money or informing her of a mediocre grade. _“I want to--”_ No, scratch that. _“I need to talk to you later. When is a good time to call?”_

The sound of Jinwoo returning from his run made Minho's heart race and his stomach flop, but he tried to keep it cool, eyes stuck on the pan before him while he gave the omelet one last flip. He knew what he'd see if he looked up: Jinwoo in the world's cutest tracksuit (it was _pink_ , for the love of God!), hair messy and sweatband dangling from his fingers, cheeks red and rosy.

“How was your run?”

“I thought it had gotten too late in the morning to run, but it's really cold out today! I was surprised!” Jinwoo brushed past him to get a water bottle from the fridge, adding, “I'm really hungry, so I'm glad you made a lot.”

Minho finally chanced a look in Jinwoo's direction. He'd taken up the space by the sink, starting to wash the dirty egg beaters discarded there. The warmth that flooded him was incredible, the sense of intimacy that fell between them without a word having to be said. They were a strange match, as Minho's other friends liked to point out, but they were a hell of a good team.

“ _It sounds like your roommate is very important to you.” The therapist had been an easy-going guy, younger than Minho had expected, and somehow he hadn't felt self-conscious at all bringing up Jinwoo. “Things like stress from school and parents' expectations are constant, they can't be made to go away. But it's always possible to find healthy outlets for that stress, to find people to help you. It sounds like you have a good start on that. Wherever you decide to take the relationship.”_

He stepped forward without thinking; he felt strange and robotic, his body on autopilot and his stomach knotted with balls of anxiety. Jinwoo noticed his movement and turned towards him, seemingly about to speak, but another step closed the distance between them-- their hands found each other instantly, without having to look from each others' eyes, and their mouths followed a second later. The kiss was meant to be a fast one, but when Minho tried to pull away, Jinwoo leaned forward with him and wrapped his arms gently around his neck, a silent plea to continue that made Minho feel positively weak. He smiled, mirroring Jinwoo's confidence as he pinned him back against the countertop.

It was Jinwoo who broke things off a minute later by pushing back gently on Minho's chest. “Do you smell that? Something's burning...”

“I turned the burner off, though! The eggs were done!”

“You can't leave the hot pan on the hot burner! It will keep cooking!” Jinwoo slipped easily out of his embrace to go tend to the stove, sighing in relief a second later. “It's still edible. You're really lucky you're cute, you know.”

Minho laughed, he couldn't help it. For someone as put-together as Jinwoo to feel anything deep for someone as scattered as Minho, it had always felt laughable. “You know how good it is for me, having you around? I'd forget my head somewhere if it weren't attached to my body, I swear. But you're so _responsible_.”

Jinwoo seemed focused on salvaging what remained unburned of their breakfast, tossing pieces here and there into the garbage can, but he laughed aloud when Minho spoke with such reverence. “Maybe that means you and I are a pretty good match, then,” he suggested, unable to keep from smiling. “I'll help you keep your head attached. You keep reminding me that I'm not a robot. Together, we'll make two functioning adults.” His cheeks glowed, giving an air of innocence that surprised Minho, but his voice was strong, and Minho couldn't ignore the wriggling, fluttering excitement in his stomach. “Let's be adults together?”

_He's kinda smooth when he wants to be._ Minho smirked. It was a side of Jinwoo he had yet to see, and yet he already had a feeling that it would be beautiful. “I fucking love you,” he whispered once he found words, wrapping his arms around Jinwoo's waist and hiding his face in his hair.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

“Just... I know saying this won't really work, but _don't stress_. I waited until this morning to tell you specifically so that you couldn't brood over it.”

Minho was right, as he often was when it came to people. Telling Jinwoo not to get stressed would do nothing to keep his anxiety at bay, especially in the face of meeting new people, and  _ especially _ when the person happened to be his boyfriend's mother. Jinwoo pouted and said nothing, simply dusting off the coffee table for the ten-thousandth time since he'd woken up. The news had made him clean like a crazy person, despite Minho insisting that the apartment was clean enough, and every little action after that point was another passive aggressive protest.  _ I can't believe you're doing this to me. _

“My mom is coming to scrutinize _me_ , not you,” Minho went on calmly, and when the words didn't seem to ring through, he grabbed his wrists and sat beside him on the couch, forcing their gazes to meet. “I told my parents to come to Seoul in person because I thought it would be the best way to come out of the closet to them.”

Jinwoo was shocked silent for a moment or two. He knew that coming out to his own parents simply wasn't practical yet, and while he was happy for Minho's bravery, the thought still gave him creeping chills of anxiety. “You're going to do it today? Are you sure it's not too soon? I'm your first boyfriend, and you've only been with me for three weeks.”

“I've been with you for over two years!” Minho's response was cheeky as expected. Jinwoo rolled his eyes. He _had_ to.

“You know what I mean!”

“Yeah. I do.” Minho drew him in close, his lips brushing up against Jinwoo's jaw; the touch hit like a jolt of static electricity and brought forth a satisfying shiver. “I guess what I mean is that I've been with you long enough to know that I want you in my life for the long-term. In these three weeks, I've had ups and downs, and I've had days so low that I really needed you.” He smiled, in that genuine way that Jinwoo loved, his eyes narrowing into two beautiful, twinkling crescents. “Even with all the shit you're dealing with yourself, you still make time for me every day. I don't understand how, but holy _shit_ , I love you for it.”

_All I wanted was to know that I'm helping._ Jinwoo felt a swell of pride in his chest, and he hid his face in Minho's shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt to hide his blush. “I love you, too.” There were a million things he wanted to say, it seemed, but the words just wouldn't take the correct form in his head. “I--”

“Oh!” Minho tensed up a little in his grasp, the moment that his phone buzzed against Jinwoo's side. “My mom's downstairs. She says she can't find a parking spot. God...” He pulled back from Jinwoo, giving him an encouraging smile. “I put out everything to make tea in the kitchen, will you start some water now?”

Jinwoo had felt the anxiety, like it was a spear that had stabbed clean through Minho and right into him. But he took Minho's hand, and together, they braced themselves. “Yeah,” he agreed, managing a brief smile while his boyfriend went to put his shoes on.

“ _Deep, slow breaths. That's what the therapist said. Long exhales.”_

“ _Does it work, though?”_

“ _I don't know. Just try it. Isn't it worth the possibility of not feeling shitty?”_

Jinwoo gave it a try now, weeks after the fact, trying to steady his shaking hands before pouring the steaming water. In, out. He could do it – Minho believed in him. The two of them, they'd be fine. The apartment really was immaculate, he realized when he dared to open his eyes. The usual clutter took up an amount of space that had never registered with him, but everything felt calm, like the space could breathe, too.

_We really can do this. We're doing great._

It took a bit of time for Minho to return. Jinwoo did his best not to let it play on his anxiety as he paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again, but he had to admit, hearing the front door open again had his heart racing. Minho's eyes were glossy with tears, but they were tears long since wiped away, the smile he wore exhausted and frazzled but a smile, nonetheless. Behind him followed his mother; she seemed to be the spitting image of him, though Jinwoo knew it was the other way around. She was smiling, too, and it made Jinwoo smile and for the first time in  _ages_ , he felt unburdened, unafraid.

“It's so nice to finally meet you. Minho talks about you every time he calls home.” Minho's mother had the same eye-smiles that lit up her face, making Jinwoo feel instantly secure talking to her. She reached out to take Jinwoo's hand, clasping it gently but firmly between two of her own. “I'm glad that someone trustworthy is taking care of my son.”

Jinwoo smiled, bowing his head respectfully even as his heart swelled. “No need to worry,” he said softly. “I will.”

 


	10. Chapter Ten

Jinwoo lit up onstage. There was no better word for it. For all the sadness and all the struggle that he was bagged down with, he flew across the polished wood floor weightlessly, with an illusion of effortlessness. In reality, hours of sweat and tears had gone into that performance, not to mention diligent nursing and resting of his sprained and tender knee between dance practices.

But if Jinwoo were in pain, or anxious in front of the crowded performance hall, it didn't show. His face was serene, and his bow at the very end was pure, personified grace. It was strange, beautiful and stupefying, to think that this flawless being was the same one who had taken to sharing his bed most nights and drooling on his pillow.

“He's amazing,” Minho's mother didn't speak until the applause began. “What did you say this is called? Contemporary dance? It's amazing what a young body can do.”

Minho hadn't been sure what kind of response to expect. On one hand, his mother had never really been one to appreciate music (“You want to go to school for music? What kind of steady job can you get with _that_? Are you going to be an idol or something?”), but on the other, she knew how important it was to her son, and he was hoping that she would soon see how music – and how Jinwoo – had helped him to heal.

“Jinwoo is just incredible. Everything he does, he doesn't bother if he isn't going to do it well.” Minho smiled a little to himself. “Jinwoo inspires me to keep doing better. I... I don't know if I would have recovered the same way without him, honestly.” It was a hard thing to say to his mother, and though she was silent, she didn't protest, only holding his hand.

There was a dancer after Jinwoo, but it seemed like the applause in between lasted forever. Minho was nearly convinced that he could feel it himself, his boyfriend's heart pounding backstage, hardly able to believe it was finally over. Relief. It was all out in the open. Minho knew that rush.

* 

Jinwoo looked dazed, almost, when he joined them; his eyes were still damp with tears, his shoulders and his breath still trembled, and he clutched a crumpled bouquet to his chest like an afterthought. He offered no resistance when Minho took him up in his arms and squeezed him tight. “You were amazing! Holy _shit_! I'm so proud of you!”

“I missed a cue right at the end. And my knee really hurts,” Jinwoo fretted softly, though he accepted Minho's praise with a light blush. “You were right. I think I over-practiced. But I hope that I at least get a good score.” He laughed weakly, avoiding looking at Minho or his mother as he admitted, “I cried so much after I got off-stage, and I feel so calm now.”

“You will do fine. I was in awe,” Minho's mother said quietly, reaching to squeeze Jinwoo's arm encouragingly. “Why don't the three of us go get something to eat? I think I'd like to get to know the boy my son is dating.”

Minho smiled. It was such relief, the reminder that things would be okay from here. And as they exited the theater, leaving the stuffy interior for the mild springtime evening, Minho couldn't help but feel that the change in seasons was helping them both. Minho had always heard that sunlight boosted the mood, and Jinwoo certainly _looked_ healthier, seeming to glow with a kiss of orange from the setting sun, face illuminated. _Brilliant_. Minho couldn't resist leaning in quietly and kissing him on the cheek.

Jinwoo tensed a bit, and Minho instantly pulled back a bit. “People will see us!”

“I'm sorry. You're just so beautiful.”

Jinwoo sighed, unable to turn away the compliment or even reply. His porcelain cheeks went softly pink, and he tucked his hair self-consciously behind his ear. It was Minho's mother who laughed, remarking, “A line like that... you're just like your father. I think the two of you have something stable, and after everything that's happened, I'm glad that you have someone to lean on. Please, take care of each other. Don't lose each other.”

It seemed like such a silly and corny comment, and Minho was about to respond in jest, but her final words hit him deeply: _Because we almost did lose each other._ He held tight to Jinwoo's hand as they walked to the car, and the thought of _not having him_ weighted on him and made his body ache.

“I won't lose you,” Jinwoo said softly, interrupting the barrage of thoughts that were coming at Minho like radio static. His grip was firm, and the smile he gave him was so genuine, so _grounding._ “We'll be okay.”

Minho smiled. _We'll be okay._ It had to be true.

 


End file.
